


Right Now

by springsnow



Series: b i g s t r o n g f a m i l y [2]
Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, And Tyler Just Wants To Help, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bathing/Washing, Brotherly Affection, Comfort, Crying, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Constipation, Family Dynamics, Gen, Hotels, Non-Sexual Age Play, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Pete Is Very Small And Has A Lot Of Feelings, Protectiveness, Regal Is A Concerned Uncle, Some Minor Physical Hurt/Comfort, Stuffed Toys, Trent Is A Protective Dad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-21
Updated: 2019-04-21
Packaged: 2020-01-23 12:33:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18549847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/springsnow/pseuds/springsnow
Summary: Trent never set out to become a dad, but sometimes, these things just kind of happen.





	Right Now

**Author's Note:**

> Set right after Pete’s match against Walter at NXT Takeover New York (5th April 2019), so obviously, spoilers for that. Yeah, I know, I’m late to the party, but between then and now I was largely working a shitty temporary job that I mercifully got fired from earlier this week and am glad to see the back of, so here we go.
> 
> Basic outline: this is a fic about non-sexual age play and regression. I may or may not do more with this, but the basic gist of it is that British Strong Style have a sort of family dynamic going with dad Trent and his ‘kids’, Tyler (about seven) and Pete (barely three). From everything I’ve read, yes, Pete is specifically from the Chelmsley Wood area of Birmingham (if you want to get technical, it’s actually in Solihull, but geographically, culturally and accent-wise, yeah, it’s basically Birmingham), which I grew up near and is absolutely infamous for being not just the worst place in Birmingham but one of the worst in the entire country (go Chelmsley). No wonder he bites people.

Trent can’t find Pete.

It’s fine. It’s all fine. It’s all juuuuust fine. That’s what he keeps telling himself over and over in his head to try and distract himself from the fact that no, it is most definitely _not_ fine, because Pete is not in the right frame of mind to be wandering around alone and not answering his phone right now and oh god, Trent’s starting to panic. He can’t do that right now. Right now, he has to find Pete.

“Maybe we should tell uncle Will,” Tyler suggests. He’s firmly in his own headspace, sitting on the edge of the bed with his well-loved stuffed monkey clutched to his chest, fidgeting with one of the ears. Trent can tell Tyler’s trying not to get scared too. Considering he’s mentally about seven years old right now, it’s probably a lot harder for him than it is for Trent. “He’s good at finding people.”

Regal _is_ good at finding people, Tyler’s right. Eerily good. _Scarily_ good. And more to the point, he is, as far as Trent knows, the only other person on the face of the Earth who knows (and, more importantly, understands) whatever the hell you want to call the weird little family dynamic the three of them have. And Trent knows that no matter what he’s doing right now, if he were to hear that Pete had gone missing, Regal would drop everything and rush to the hotel to help track him down. But he’s currently halfway across the city and Trent really, really doesn’t want to have to wait for him to make his way over to the hotel because he really, really needs to find Pete _right now_.

“It’s a good thought, pup, but uncle Will’s busy at the moment,” Trent says, trying to moderate his language to stop Tyler from getting any more worried. Tyler nods, but Trent can see the tears beginning to well up in his eyes. Even during the match, Trent could see Tyler getting nervous and starting to slip into headspace. It was only natural; most of the time, they never worried about Pete during matches—he could handle himself easy enough, and he’d reassured them there was never a risk of him slipping into headspace in the middle of one—but this…this had been different. Trent had sat there with his fingers squeezing the chair, willing himself not to run out there and jump in the ring himself and save Pete from Walter. The look on Pete’s face had shattered Trent; he’d looked so _scared_ , a kind of pure, cold fear that Trent wasn’t sure he’d ever seen from him before, and who could blame him? It was a miracle he could still walk afterwards. There had been a few moments when Trent had started to worry that Pete’s oft-uttered reassurance— _of course I never slip in a match, I’m always focussed in the ring_ —would finally be proven false and they were going to have to deal with the fallout of Pete’s headspace suddenly taking over mid-match (he’d be completely helpless, Walter would kill him, Hunter would be furious, the list went on and on and on in Trent’s mind).

“I—” Tyler sniffles and bites his lower lip, presumably to stop it from wobbling, and Trent tries to keep his insane internal mantra of _it’s fine it’s fine it’s fine it’s fine_ going because if he doesn’t then he’s probably going to start crying, too. “I’m scared, dad.” 

“I know, but it’s alright. I’m gonna find Pete and bring him back. He’s probably just somewhere else in the hotel.” That hope is growing a little thin, actually; Trent’s texted as many people as he can asking if they’ve seen Pete (in a casual ‘hey, you seen Pete around?’ way, of course, rather than a ‘Pete is missing and I’m going to have a nervous breakdown if I can’t find him because he probably has a current mental age of approximately three’ way), and so far, no luck. “It’s going to be fine, Ty. Trust me.”

Tyler wipes his eyes and nods. Trent gives him a hug, promises he’ll be back—with Pete—as soon as possible, and steps out into the corridor.

==

It’s an old building, this hotel; lots of nooks and crannies and places for a despondent young man who’s not quite himself to hide away in. Trent tries not to think too hard about that. He spends what feels like an eternity wandering the corridors of the floor they’re on, the floor below, the floor below the floor below and so on and so on, simultaneously trying not to look like a crazy person while also trying to find anywhere Pete could’ve hidden himself. And finally, five floors down, on the ninth, he has some luck.

He finds him sitting on the floor near one of the fire escapes, tucked away between the wall and what was probably originally a chimney. He’s out of the way enough that if Trent hadn’t been looking as hard as he was, he probably would’ve missed him. He’s in an old hoodie and tracksuit pants, and he looks so small and so helpless and so lost that it breaks Trent’s heart.

“Pete?” he says softly, not wanting to spook him. Pete looks up at him through his hair. His eyes look lifeless and empty and hollow.

Trent is going to fucking _murder_ that big ugly Austrian bastard.

“It’s alright, bab,” Trent says. He crouches down next to Pete and reaches out to brush his tangled red hair from his eyes. “You’re alright. You’re safe now. Daddy’s here.”

He’s seen Pete like this before. Not many times, thank god, but Trent understands it well enough by now. Pete’s stuck. Stuck halfway between regular normal everyday grown-up Pete—the one that bites people and breaks fingers and has an _Attitude_ with a capital ‘A’—and the Pete that only Trent and Tyler (and, occasionally, Regal) get to see, Trent’s sweet, shy, fragile baby boy and Tyler’s adoring (and adored) little brother. And right now, Trent knows that he needs to get to the second Pete, because it’s the only way Pete is going to be able to get over what happened tonight in a healthy way.

“I know tonight was rough, angel,” he continues, extending a hand, “but right now we’ve gotta get you back to the room and cleaned up. I’ll run you a nice hot bath and we can have some dinner. How does that sound?”

Pete still doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even nod or shake his head, but—after a moment’s hesitation—takes Trent’s outstretched hand. Once they’re both on their feet, Trent wraps an arm around Pete’s shoulder, and Pete instinctively leans into it. Trent holds him for a second, and finds himself wondering how the Christ his teenage decision to pursue a wrestling career has somehow culminated in the now almost-forty-year-old him becoming the surrogate father to an emotionally repressed twink from Netherton and an antisocial young man from Chelmsley Wood with a slightly weird oral fixation.

He guides Pete back to the elevators and bundles him into one. The only other passengers are a distinguished-looking elderly couple—the man in a finely-tailored suit and the woman in fur and pearls—who give the large bearded man and his wild-haired companion a slightly strange look, but mercifully, say nothing. Trent smiles awkwardly and hopes that they’re assuming Pete’s just drunk or high.

When they make it back to the room, Tyler lets out a cry of relief and rushes over to hug Pete tightly. He seems to sense something’s wrong, though, because after a few seconds he pulls away, frowning slightly.

“Dad?” he says. “What’s wrong with Pete?”

Trent does his best to smile reassuringly. “He’s fine, Ty. He just needs to…to wind down a little. Can you do me a favour and start running a bath?”

Tyler nods and heads off to the bathroom. Trent lets the door auto-lock behind them and guides Pete over to the bed. He’s still not talking, still staring blankly at the floor, and Trent’s chest hurts. Not that Pete ever really talks much when he’s in headspace, but Trent just wants _something_ from him. Something, _anything_ to let him know his little boy is in there and is going to be alright. He hugs Pete close to him and kisses his temple. “I know it’s hard right now, but everything’s going to be alright,” he says softly. “But it’s OK if you want to have a cry or something. It’s healthy.”

Pete rests his head on Trent’s shoulder. He’s moving, at least. Tyler’s re-emerged from the bathroom door and is hovering nervously near the bed, obviously not sure what to do with himself. It takes almost another minute, but Trent feels Pete start to shake and hears a soft sob. Pete clings to Trent’s t-shirt and starts to cry, tears flowing freely, the barrier finally broken. Trent hauls him into his lap and rubs his back and lets him cry on his shoulder. He never likes seeing either of his boys cry, but it’s what Pete needs right now, and he’s going to let him do it for as long as he needs. The tears come out in thick, wordless sobs, and all through it Trent rubs his back and strokes his hair, rocking him gently. Tyler’s on the bed next to them now, awkwardly rubbing Pete’s shoulder. Trent can see that he’s already gotten Pete’s stuffed lion out of the bag for him and, despite himself, smiles. Normally, when they’re all out there in the outside world as normal, functioning adults, Tyler’s always been considered the baby of the group. It comes with being the youngest. But little Tyler prides himself on being a good big brother to Pete.

Eventually, Pete’s sobs subside into sniffles and hiccups and he sits back, wiping his eyes clumsily with his hands. Trent gently pushes them away and grabs some tissues from the nightstand. Pete’s eyes are bloodshot and his face is puffy, but he looks like himself again, and it’s the biggest relief of Trent’s life.

“There you are,” Trent says, smiling a little. “How you feeling now?”

“Tired,” Pete mumbles. Trent nods.

“Let’s get you into that bath, hm?”

Pete nods in return and lets Trent carry him to the bathroom. Trent shuts the door behind them and sets Pete down so that he can get undressed, turning around to shut the faucet off. When he turns back, Pete is still standing there, looking expectant.

“Can you get undressed by yourself, or do you need daddy to help?” Trent asks patiently. No verbal reply, but Pete holds his arms up for Trent to take his hoodie off, and Trent nods. He takes Pete’s hoodie off for him, followed by his t-shirt, and has to suppress a gasp of shock. He can still see the outline of Walter’s hand where he hit Pete square in the chest. He tries not to look at it, because he doesn’t want Pete to dwell on the match too much. Losing the title was bad enough; worse still that he had to lose it to someone who did _that_ to him. As Trent undresses him the rest of the way, he hears Pete whimper and sniffle in pain as he brushes past sensitive spots that Walter hit during their match.

Trent is _definitely_ going to fucking murder that big ugly Austrian bastard.

Trent ushers Pete into the tub and, from the bag on the counter, produces shampoo, conditioner, and a toy boat. Pete makes a small but happy noise and makes grabby hands at the boat. Trent doesn’t even bother with the _how do we ask nicely?_ tonight; he wants his baby boy to be happy. He hands him the brightly-coloured plastic boat and starts washing him as gently and tenderly as he possibly can, to avoid aggravating the already-angry bruises on his body.

“Daddy?” Pete says, looking up.

“Yes, Pete?”

“’m sorry I ran away.”

“It’s alright, love,” Trent says, using the shower head to rinse the first lot of shampoo out of Pete’s hair.

“Were you an’ Ty scared?” Pete’s eyes are very wide.

“A little bit. But it’s alright. We’ve got you back now.”

Pete nods and goes back to playing with his boat. Trent finishes with the shampoo, and Pete is quite patient as he rubs the conditioner in and leaves it to settle for a few minutes before rinsing that out, too. Beyond occasionally asking Pete to lift his arm or telling him to close his eyes while he washes his face, Trent’s silent, and so is Pete. Neither of them mention the bruises or the match or Pete losing his title to a certain big ugly Austrian, and it’s all fine, because it’s what Pete needs right now.

It’s what they both need right now.

Trent quickly goes back out to the room to fetch some clean clothes; Tyler’s cross-legged on the bed, watching what sounds like an episode of _We Bare Bears_ on Trent’s iPad, and looks up when he hears the door open.

“Is he OK now?” he asks. Trent smiles and nods.

“He’s fine.”

Tyler seems satisfied with this answer and goes back to the iPad.

Pete doesn’t complain beyond a soft whine when Trent tells him it’s time to get out of the bath, and stands patiently while Trent re-dresses him in clean, comfy clothes. Five minutes later, Pete’s bundled up in an old Wolverhampton Wanderers hoodie and pyjama pants and is watching _We Bare Bears_ with Tyler on the bed, hugging his stuffed lion close to his chest, while Trent makes a rather thrown-together dinner in the kitchenette. It’s nothing grand, just pasta and veggies, but he wants to make sure both his boys get some dinner before bed—especially Pete.

Tyler asks Pete something; Trent doesn’t hear the question, but Pete nods in response, and Tyler gets up and starts rummaging through one of the bags. He produces Pete’s cup, and Trent smiles to himself. When Pete had first gotten involved, he’d been worried that he and Tyler would clash; Tyler had gotten used to having ‘dad’ to himself when he was in headspace, and considering Pete’s headspace turned him into a demanding, emotionally fragile toddler who was in almost constant need of cuddles and positive attention, it could easily have spelled disaster. But Tyler had adapted remarkably well, and had taken to the older brother role like a duck to water.

Tyler pads over to the kitchenette. He’s in his own pyjamas, just a t-shirt and shorts—none of them have ever really gone in for the dressing up aspect of the whole thing; it’s always been easier, and more comfortable, for them to be dressed as…well, as themselves.

“Do we have juice, dad?” he asks. Trent ruffles his hair (it’s getting long again) and points to the fridge.

“In there, pup,” he says. Tyler nods and gets the juice out, carefully pouring a glass for himself before filling Pete’s cup. He screws the top back onto Pete’s cup and carries them both back over to the bed. Trent would warn him about not spilling any on the bed, but he knows he doesn’t need to. He allows himself another moment of gazing fondly at his boys before going back to chopping up the carrots.

Once dinner’s finished cooking, he serves it up into three bowls and carries them over to the bed, joining his boys. Pete ends up sandwiched between Trent and Tyler and seems quite happy to be snuggled by them while he eats his dinner and drinks his juice. Trent plays with his hair while he watches the cartoon along with his boys; he doesn’t completely follow the plot, but he’s seen the show before and is familiar enough with the cute little animated bears. Tyler’s a big fan, and it always seems to help Pete relax, so it’s fine with Trent.

“Pete?” Trent says softly. Pete looks up. “Can you promise me and Ty that you won’t run off like that again?”

Pete nods. “I promise, daddy.”

Trent ruffles his damp hair and kisses him. “That’s a good boy. We both love you.”

“Love you too,” Pete says. He’s getting sleepy, Trent can tell, but rather that than the bone-deep, aching tiredness he’d seen in his eyes earlier.

They’re not up late. By the time they finish eating, Pete’s half-asleep and Tyler’s starting to get a little red-eyed and grouchy himself. Trent tucks his boys in, kissing them both on the forehead. The bed’s not quite big enough for all three of them to sleep in, but he’s happy with the couch; it’s hardly the first time, and he’s slept in far more uncomfortable places.

As he’s changing into his own pyjamas, his phone vibrates. He picks it up; Regal.

_Everything alright with Pete?_

Trent looks over at Pete, sleeping peacefully, and smiles quietly to himself as he types out a reply.

_Yeah, he’s doing good. Had some dinner & now he’s asleep._

_Any upsets?_

_Earlier, yeah. We sorted it out._

_Good. Get some sleep too._

Trent switches his phone off and finishes changing. He lies down on the couch, pulling the blanket over himself, and throws one last look at his boys. He smiles again.

Yeah, his life may have taken a weird turn. But right now, he wouldn’t change it for the world.


End file.
